


Afterhours

by veridical



Series: Tips For Ruining Your Business [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, Maccadam's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridical/pseuds/veridical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bar is the same, but Blurr seems different. Certainly has dents in some places there should be none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterhours

**Author's Note:**

> While other fics in the series could, for the most part, work on their own, this is not the case with this one, as it's connected with the previous one (Casualties) quite heavily.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Swindle hovered uncertainly on the threshold. Well, here was a first, but he could hardly be blamed. To go to Maccadam's after all that'd happened was... unnerving.

He stepped inside and flinched, dampening his audio sensors immediately. Primus, he forgot how loud it could be. Medcentre was so quiet - neither Flatline nor Quickmix were very talkative, and it wasn't that Swindle cherished silence that much - after all, he liked _Blurr_ , but for a change, it was nice.

He remembered running to his place - too far, too far, and he couldn't transform, and Slug, catching up, grunted something like "come on", and transformed, "not like this is the first time”, and Swindle climbed onto him, just to get there fast enough, _what did they do, how much did they dump in there, did he have enough antidote_?

No, stop, that was over. He fixed his optics on Blurr and had a hard time focusing for a little while. What in the--

"Swindle!" Blurr's optics widened and he rushed over to grab the merchant in a quick hug. So he was undeterred. It'd been a while, too, since Swindle experienced it so acutely - arms settling around him, Blurr's height a little bit uncomfortable, but he couldn't complain. Didn't want to.

The blue mech took his hand and guided him to the bar. "Come on, sit, I've already checked all the tanks, so you needn't worry, how are you feeling?"

He was rushing words again, but Swindle didn't have it in him to note on this.

".....ffine, I guess." He took a good look at Blurr, a swirl of movement behind the counter. Swindle thought he sensed some giddy excitement in his EM-field, but was not sure. More concerning were the visuals - dents in his plating, scratches; as if he hadn't had a wax in months, even though Swindle personally saw the mech waxing himself in the medcentre just some days ago! He frowned. "What's with you, though? Why do you look like that?"

"Oh, I." Blurr coughed, avoiding his gaze. "It's nothing. Here you go. Thought you'd like something different, you know, not even sure you would want to drink _that_  thing again, but you just need to ask--"

"Hey, hey." Swindle stopped him, laying both of his hands atop Blurr's. "Thanks. Now, what happened? Did you decide it was a good idea to race through the narrowest lanes of Metroplex _right after your release from the medcentre_?"

"I... No. Well, if you should know, I found one guy responsible. We had a little... chat." Blurr looked up and Swindle realised he was almost grinning. "Pit, the places they favour, though--"

Swindle froze. "What."

"Yeahhhh, I just thought he needed someone to remind him a few things." Blurr smiled smugly.

Swindle needed a moment to find words, _any_ words. "Are you-- are you fraggin' gone binary? Do you know who they are-- do you know how many of them there are?"

Blurr's expression shifted immediately.

"You forget which one of us used to be a Wrecker!"

"Wrecker or not, you should not have done this, at _least_ not without back-up!" Why were they even arguing about it?!

"How are you to know I didn't have back-up?"

"Because of your stupid Autobot idealistic--"

"Oh, are we discussing factions now?!"

"To Pit with it!" Swindle threw up his hands. "Why would you do that?! You don't even know them! I mean, everybody would be livid if they did the things they did-- you could have just asked me, asked others-- they're not worth it!"

Blurr's optics flashed with anger. "They tried to poison  _you_ ," he hissed. "In  _my bar_."

It stopped another angry tyrade just waiting in his mouth, sobering him up and spinning his helm at the same time. Suddenly Swindle was very conscious of the fact that his hand was still clutched tightly. Blurr seemed to not be aware of it.

"You're such an idiot," he shook his helm, without looking at Blurr. Why was he doing it, what was he trying to prove? He was _still_  weak from the poison, his systems barely restored after a toll they'd taken. 

"No, you're an idiot if you're not getting it," the bartender said through clenched dentae. Swindle could feel the hurt in his field and was aching himself, desperate to do something. Blurr was on the other side of the bar, helm lowered, shoulders slumped, staring stubbornly at the counter - it was not right. Not right at all.

And because Blurr was angry, but apparently not because _he_  had got poisoned, and because Swindle, if he was honest with himself - and he had to be honest with himself, _who else?_ \- if he was being honest, he had been thinking about it for a week, or more, of bar's lights dimmed, of Blurr's moment of fear when he hadn't reacted, a glimpse of astonishment and sweet, sweet surprise when Swindle leaned in of his own volition, of a field warm and buzzing against his own, merry and drunk, of his stupid giggling and attempts at being smooth-- because of long nights and a new day dawning while they walked, of helms nearly touching when they leaned over a datapad, hands always hovering close to touch - because of all of this-- because _nothing_ , it was easier to lean in and kiss him.

It felt... odd, to simply do it; he might have expected this from anyone, but not himself. Swindle didn't go around kissing people, as a rule. Maybe he thought too much, maybe he didn't think enough, but all this time, ever since the night Blurr had leaned in and stolen a kiss, all the times Swindle ached and longed, barely admitting it to himself-- even the time spent by his side in the medcentre, Blurr's field fuzzy and muddled, all the times he just wanted him close, and yet Swindle never even entertained the idea of doing anything himself. Oh, he liked getting what he wanted, but how could he just go and embrace the blue mech, run his hands over the headfins, take his hand? _Invite him over?_ No, no, the initiative always came from Blurr. It had to come from Blurr. After all, the bartender made it clear it was easy for him, so Swindle didn't try it himself. He wouldn't touch him, he wouldn't come onto him, he wouldn't kiss him.

He kissed him now.

Blurr didn't taste as sweet as he had back then, and there were remnants of medical grade on his lipplates, and a thousand more thoughts were racing through the merchant's mind, all of them overshadowed by blue sleek lines and optics blazing hotly in surprise, oh, slag it to the Pit, Swindle, what had you gotten yourself into?

"The Pit are you doing?" Blurr said when he caught up and leaned away - he _leaned away_. Swindle never judged people wrong, had he come to the wrong conclusion, did he miss something, what was the guy's _problem_? - and then, in an angry whisper, almost threatening, "You know, if you want to shut me up, Swindle, you can kindly use your fraggin' vocabulary--"

This time, Swindle didn't give himself even a nano-klik to think, _this time_ , he made sure to catch Blurr's mouth right in the middle, the way Blurr himself had that night weeks ago - he was very sure, very in control, except for the part of him that silently pleaded into Blurr's still-open mouth and hoped that he would take initiative.

_Come on. Get it. Get it._

Blurr froze, and then his hand slowly uncurled from a fist, and he laid it tentatively on Swindle's back.

Swindle vented a sigh of relief and was immediately brought closer, almost leaning out of his seat, as Blurr kissed back, kissed desperately, trying to get closer, hands clutching at him, and Swindle felt everything in him squeeze at once. He _knew_ it - he thought he knew it, he was almost sure, but it didn't compare, nothing compared at all, when Blurr was-- oh. Oh, Blurr really did...

Blurr sobbed suddenly into his mouth, and Swindle found himself stroking his grills. It felt surreal. Here he was, in the middle of their bar, not sitting and hoping and doing nothing, but reaching out of his own volition, and if what he sensed in Blurr's field was true, he welcomed every derring-do of the smaller mech. The lipplates on his own were warm - he was always so warm, so sweet, so stupid. So many other words Swindle could use, but didn't, not to his face, and maybe it didn't matter, if they still ended up here, and Blurr was kissing him as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Somewhere along the bartender started spinning his wheel with his other hand, so lightly and carelessly, like he had countless times before - how could a meaningless gesture carry so much meaning now? The way Blurr was stroking the plating on his back, as if taming a wild turbofox, was not even new - he thought he was used to Blurr's touches, but this was something different entirely, and the ex-con opened his mouth and it was sweet, sweeter than that damned engex, only everything was blue instead of pink, and sensing that Blurr might be okay with it, maybe, Swindle brought his hand up to tug onto his headfins, bring him closer and lower. Right, that was better. Much better.

When they parted this time, Blurr was gaping at him.

"So I guess you really don't remember," Swindle muttered, cringing. "Uh. You did kinda warn me... I'm sorry?"

They both gawked at each other without moving.

"Idiot," Blurr proclaimed completely out of the blue, and grinned so widely, as if his spark felt just as hot as Swindle's. "What if... what if someone sees?"

"Didn't take you for a shy type," Swindle replied automatically in a static-laden voice.

"I am _not_! It's just. Business. Supposed to separate the... you know," he fumbled uncharacteristically. "Business from stuff like this, oh Primus, help me out here."

Swindle shrugged, reached for his drink and slowly took a sip. Blurr didn't tear his optics away for a nano-klik. Oh. Oh, how he loved being right.

They stared at each other - Swindle, over the edge of the glass, Blurr in a weird frozen stance. Quick, he needed to say something. Anything. "Well. As recent events have proven, even the best - namely, I, - find myself at loss to separate business and... well," he coughed, wanted to say "pleasure", but couldn't - the word filled with connotations, "things you do when business is over."

Real smooth, Swindle. He should start a poetry career.

"It's never over here," Blurr sighed, and it sounded so fragging wistful, making Swindle want to catch this little ventilation. With his mouth. Stop, stop, stop.

He looked away, caught a glimpse of Fat Tankor fervently discussing something with the others and decided he didn't want to know.

"I thought you liked being here," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Blurr said sheepishly. "Mostly. Most of the time, usually, I guess."

Swindle swallowed on nothing. _I like being here too_. No. _I like_ you _being here, too_. Oh, great. When did he turn into a character from _Flatliners_? He wanted - he _needed_ to say something, but he was afraid of saying too much.

For some reason. Trouble was, he was having a hard time remembering what the reason was. All that mattered is that Blurr seemed closer than before, his field warmer than ever, and he never wanted it to change back. "I. Don't even wanna drink when you're not smiling at me across the counter," he bursted out, challenging Blurr's speed.

He dared a glance, and the bartender was smiling. Was that a "you're nice" smile or "I can't believe the slag you say" smile? How should he even tell?

"You're... you're the stupidest bot I know," Blurr said with a laugh. "How do you even manage your business?"

"No, you're stupid," Swindle replied immediately, feeling as if he was caught up in a typical Decepticon argument. "Stop smiling like that!"

Blurr curled a corner of the mouth, leaned in and whispered, "But you like it."

He did, but that didn't mean that Blurr had an upper hand. Swindle ex-vented into his neck cables and the blue mech started. "S-stop it."

"You started it," he shrugged, backing away.

"They are _talking_ ," Blurr whispered, glancing to the side.

"They've always been talking." Swindle reset his optics. "I just didn't figure you, well, cared."

Blurr drew circles on his palm. "I care," he muttered. "Not about the talking."

"Mmmmm," Swindle managed. Oh, what would he do now? What could he even do? Everything he didn't dare think about for the last few months came back to haunt him now, and Blurr didn't even look like he'd mind. Did that mean that touching his hand, staying up 'till the last call and beyond, checking and fixing and lately, honest-to-Primus _filling_ his bills, drinking all the concoctions he came up with (once from the same glass _at the same time_ ) didn't need to be justified and masqueraded as boredom? Were all the touches, the innuendos, the _hugging_ suddenly different? Could he just reach across the counter any time and-- and--

Warmth from Blurr's field was slowly wrapping around his spark.

"You should get checked in the medcentre, they'd patch you up," he choked out. "Not that Flatline will be happy to see you so soon..."

"Oh, you needn't worry. It's not me who needs a doctor!" the bartender smirked.

Swindle let his optics climb up in doubt.

"Wreckers. Remember?"

Idiot. "You're too cocksure for your own good." He shook his helm, Blurr beaming at him. What an idiot. What a pair of absolute idiots they are.

"Blurr?" the Tall Tankor was approaching them, very tentatively, for some reason. "Might I... er... interrupt? We're kinda short on drinks."

The merchant wondered if his fellow ex-con was chosen as a courier for his politeness.

"Of course, Tankor, I'll come right away--"

Swindle threw a glance aside, and Slug was _smirking_ at them. Ah. No doubt they will be interrogating Blurr.

"I'm sorry, gotta go," he announced, smiling brightly. Part of him wanted to hear, but that'd just be more embarrassment for the bartender.

Even smaller part of him wanted to see Blurr flustered, but he waved it away. Could... maybe... wait. If he was actually, really... If Swindle dared--

"Oh." He was treated to a disappointed expression on Blurr's faceplates the moment their hands parted. The former racer came out from behind the bar, nodded to Tankor, who slipped away, and casually spun Swindle's wheel.

"Must you," the merchant muttered.

"If you don't mind."

Swindle hummed, and they didn't move. The sounds of the bar seemed to dim. He hadn't minded in a long while. "No. I guess," he finally replied, scowling.

Blurr grinned. "Good," he said and touched his lipplates to Swindle's optics. "See you."

The ex-con nearly spluttered, but Blurr was already sauntering away.

"Yes. 'Till then."

Before he could decide otherwise, he left - left the bar with its owner, regulars, non-poisonous drinks, loud music, bright purple lights which became a trademark of a sort, brilliant smiles and short hugs, but it was there, a beating spark of a new Cybertron, and safe in that knowledge, Swindle went onto his business.


End file.
